


Två Vargar

by BeauTRex



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: AFAB Bloodhound (Apex Legends), Blood, Bloodhound Headcanons (Apex Legends), Bloodhound is ambiguous, First Apex fic, It's not really involved with the smut though, Jealousy, Loba is a little shit, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Really just eyecolor, Rough Body Play, Semi-Public Sex, These two are criminally underrated, Top Bloodhound (Apex Legends), Vaginal Fingering, jealous bloodhound, minor Bloodplay, smut in second chapter, there's a little plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:35:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28830522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeauTRex/pseuds/BeauTRex
Summary: It's a bad idea to tease a wild dog. Loba doesn't care.
Relationships: Loba Andrade & Bloodhound, Loba Andrade/Bloodhound
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Två Vargar

Gunpowder and dirt stained a pristine outfit, pure white sullied by failures of attention on her part and grave mistakes on behalf of others. Now general filth was one thing to get out of her outfit, but blood? Now normally any unintentional crimson added on to any part would have her ire rising, but watching it smear up the side of her boot had anything but annoyance creeping in. There was a soft hitch of breath as the rough leather of distinct gloves traveled slowly up along the backside of her calf, pausing just halfway up, but oh, did so simple a touch have her attention.

It wasn’t new; not the first there was some desperate grasp made at her whether out of a silent plea for mercy or a weak willed attempt at a distraction so that their teammate might have better luck. Never had she hesitated in delivering the final blow however.

A stranger to lingering touches she was not, though the environment for them was always so vastly different to this. Low-lit bars and clubs she wasn’t supposed to be able to get into were her typical backdrops for such things; always preceded by the batting of thick eyelashes or maybe some sultry words. All for show and all for her own gain of course. Just because the she-wolf knew how to act easy didn’t mean she was. Yet on the opposite side of that vein was the expertise in playing hard to get, dancing away from wandering hands with coy little laughs and letting her prey come to her; let them wander into the wolf’s den all of their own accord.

This was no such thing though and she had no intention of dancing away from this touch.

Surely she was a perfect candidate for a free headshot right now, perched perfectly still as she was. Beneath her, and more importantly that elegant heel of hers, lay the oh-so powerful Bloodhound. The god-sent hunter capable of such destruction, inspiring fear and awe from opposition and teammates alike. There was something divine to see them like this though, chest heaving beneath her boot from adrenaline and their wounds alike, fingers curling into her leg with just enough pressure for her to be acutely aware of it, blood already growing sticky against the smooth leather.

Tensed and relaxed all the same where they lay in the dirt, staring up at her. The fight had seen the right lense of their goggles shattering leaving curious molten gold to peer right back down at them, taking great interest in what appeared to be the singular hazel orb revealed to her. It was unlikely that she would ever forget the sight, shadowed though it was, of that one pupil blown wide. She wasn’t so enraptured so as to let her focus be consumed solely by this, however. She had stood frozen to the spot, the P2020 in her hand wasn’t even readied on them, and they easily could have taken that opportunity to fish the carving knife or any other blade hidden on their person from its holster and drive it deep into the meat ot her thigh to turn the tide of their encounter.

No pain, no attempt, just the insistent grasp that readjusted but once, and the hunter lying almost complacent and dare she think docile.

Neither had said a word but there was a lengthy conversation that had passed nonetheless within a few seconds that felt like an eternity. Painted lips were wet and parted with the intention of making some proper comment, softer in volume and void of the typical snark her words carried, her voice was stolen by the distant trade of gunfire, spooking her from her thoughts.

Like a startled animal she moved, ducking first on instinct before relieving that pressure from the hunter’s chest and ripping her leg from their grasp with disappointment on both ends. That marked the end of their encounter this time, but it clearly wasn’t over. Beside them now, they afforded them one more look before slowly her nature returned. It was like their touch had drained out her sense and it was returning all it once, perhaps with an additional rush to her teasing tendency and confident disposition. The pistol raised and that smirk that was so wont of her came to grace her features, and finally the verbal silence was broken. “At least someone knows their place around me.”

_Bang._

Such a small thing shouldn’t have stuck with her as it had, but the fact of the matter was that the event was simply something Loba was unable to purge from her mind; though it was hardly as though she wanted to. There were far worse things to have etched in the back of her mind than something so pretty and rare as Bloodhound beneath her boot.

Still, getting attached to that memory was a dangerous thing.

The she-wolf was a focused woman, always knowing what she wanted and precisely how she was going to get it; never let her mind slip from her objective, be it a trinket she wanted to see in her collection or some task to be settled. However, after that particular match she had found her focus shifting away and thoughts wandering on more than one occasion right on back to those worn leather gloves sliding up her leg and just how they might feel elsewhere. At first she regarded it all as an unnecessary distraction that would only bring about mistakes she simply couldn’t afford. The more that the images plagued her mind though, the more they corrupted her brain; twisted her thoughts and began seeping out its influence until it planted one possibly dangerous little reminder.

Since when was there something that Loba Andrade could not afford?


End file.
